


Morning Wood

by snae_b



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snae_b/pseuds/snae_b
Summary: Aziraphale had been doing a splendid job of not overthinking things. Not wishing their bed were less platonic. And absolutely not willing away the growing ache in his trousers from time to time. And so it came with some surprise when on the first day of the fourth week after the apocalypse didn’t happen he found himself peeling the sheets back gingerly and gazing straight into the eye of Crowley’s raging erection, still trapped tightly under his briefs.Crowley gets morning wood. Aziraphale gets curious. They both discover something new.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 197





	Morning Wood

**Author's Note:**

> Slight non-con warning for Aziraphale peeking under the sheets at ( _clothed_ ) Crowley while he sleeps.

Ever since the apocalypse didn’t happen a certain angel and demon duo had become nearly inseparable. Aziraphale told himself this was simply a safety precaution. Best to stick together should upstairs or downstairs manage to sleuth out how exactly they had escaped their respective trials. Safety in (very small) numbers. He told himself this with such blind conviction that he was definitely not fazed that first night, still giddy and at least moderately drunk from celebration, that Crowley yawned exaggeratedly, scrubbed his hand over his face and said “Bedtime?” before traipsing up the stairs toward _Aziraphale’s_ bed. He certainly hadn’t sat slack jawed, staring at the empty staircase, a simultaneously pleasant and awful tingle coiling low in his belly. After several moments Crowley’s face had popped back around the corner, brows drawn together, “coming then?”

Aziraphale was startled out of his stupor and nearly tripped over his own feet scrambling to follow Crowley to his dusty old bedroom. His pulse was racing in anticipation. Was this really happening? Crowley was settling in beneath the sheets and Aziraphale’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull when he realized he was wearing just a pair of black boxer briefs and one of Aziraphale’s undershirts. The thin white cotton hung loosely over his thin frame and the glimpse of jutting collarbones made Aziraphale’s knees weak. Crowley patted the bed next to him and with trembling legs Aziraphale crossed the room and sat on the edge of the mattress, heart racing. Six thousand years and Crowley was just jumping straight in. No safety net, no questions. They were just going to… do this?

Crowley laid his head on the ancient down filled pillow, pulled the sheet up to his waist and smiled at Aziraphale, all warm golden eyes and soft wrinkles in all the right places. “Night then!” and as if a switch had been flipped, fell immediately, deeply asleep, head lolling to one side, mouth falling open. Aziraphale had gaped at Crowley for at least ten minutes before changing into pajamas and crawling into bed alongside him with a book.

That was three weeks ago and it had become par for the course ever since. Their days were spent mostly together, running the shop, long quiet walks, raucous debates, and every kind of take out under the sun. Late into the evening they would retire to Aziraphale’s ( _their?_ ) bed where Crowley would sleep and Aziraphale would read. It was safe. Aziraphale refused to overthink things. He’d been overthinking for 6,000 years and was finally able to breathe and let go and share a (totally platonic) bed with his (totally platonic) best friend. And if in the middle of the night Crowley tended to flop a leg or an arm, or in some heart stopping cases his entire body, on top of Aziraphale, then so be it. Friends cuddled from time to time, right? And if Aziraphale sometimes reached over and brushed a lock of fiery hair from his face, well that was just being considerate, right? Everything was just grand. Not confusing.

Aziraphale had been doing a splendid job of not overthinking things. Not wishing their bed were less platonic. And absolutely not willing away the growing ache in his trousers from time to time. And so it came with some surprise when on the first day of the fourth week after the apocalypse didn’t happen he found himself peeling the sheets back gingerly and gazing straight into the eye of Crowley’s raging erection, still trapped tightly under his briefs.

It had all started innocently enough. The first hint of the impending sunrise had cast the room in dusky blue light. Aziraphale had just set his book on the nightstand and was considering getting up to make a cup of tea. Crowley was dozing beside him, facing away. A soft rumbling snore punctuating the quiet every few seconds. Aziraphale stopped to bask in the safe domesticity of their shared space, gaze falling over the demon. He wasn’t overthinking things. This was normal. This is what friends did. They slowly filled their friend’s homes with plants and small personal trinkets and slept in their bed and brought home pastries and expensive wine on whims. And friends totally imagined what their friends lips felt like and how the inside of their elbow would taste if they put their mouth there and if they always sported a penis as they had when they’d switched bodies or if they sometimes swapped in a vagina and if so how they liked it to be touched.

As Aziraphale was definitely _not_ overthinking things, Crowley rolled onto his back, arms stretching out over head, hands fisted tightly around nothing. His body grew long and taut as he stretched his limbs to their full extent. His body trembled and his back arched up off the mattress and the most lewd groan Aziraphale had ever heard slipped between his lips. Aziraphale had never seen someone stretch so salaciously and he couldn’t quash the images that flashed through his head of the ways he might make Crowley repeat that sound. He tried and failed to blink the images away. They only became more explicit as he noticed a tent growing steadily under the sheets. Did Crowley have an erection? That was a stupid question. Crowley definitely had an erection. Aziraphale’s gaze flicked back and forth between the bulge at his groin and his face, which had drooped back into its usual slack jawed sleep state. His breathing was slow and even. He was definitely asleep. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to peek, right? Over the clothes, of course. Friends did that, yes? He reached out tentatively and pinched the sheet between two trembling fingers and carefully lifted the sheet. Even in the dim light of dawn he could see the outline of Crowley’s penis straining against the soft black cotton. He sucked in a sharp breath and could feel heat spreading over his cheeks.

“Angel?” He dropped the sheets and yanked his hand away, blood roaring in his ears. “What are you…oh. Jeez. Angel, I’m… it’s totally natural, I promise. I’m sorry.” Aziraphale sputtered. Why was Crowley apologizing to _him_? He had been crossing so many lines. All of the lines. He knew he should say something, but all of his apologies were caught up in his throat. He stared at Crowley wide eyed. The corners of Crowley’s mouth dipped down and he sat up, rearranging himself discreetly under the sheets.

“It just happens sometimes in the morning. They call it morning wood.” He said with a chuckle, pushing his hair back from his face.

Aziraphale’s brows knit together as he finally finds his voice. He didn’t mean to, but did in fact, blurt out, “I know what morning wood is.”

Crowley raised a brow and regarded him curiously. “What have you been reading lately, angel?”

Aziraphale was becoming more confused by the minute. “Reading?”

“Yeah, what have you been reading that taught you ‘bout morning wood?”

“I haven’t _read_ anything, Crowley. I’ve… well…” he gestured in the general direction of his own crotch. “I sleep every once in a while too…” he mumbled.

Crowley’s eyes bulge. He looked horrified. “But angels are… sexless. You didn’t, you know, have anything, um.” He swallowed thickly and glanced at Aziraphale’s crotch. “You know, when we switched.”

Aziraphale was certain his cheeks were approaching scarlet. “I, um, turned it off for that. Seemed a little personal to just leave it there.”

Crowley’s mouth opened and closed in a startlingly accurate impression of a fish out of water. “But,” he squeaked “…sexless?”

“Well, it _is_ a somewhat recent development, but there is nothing that says angels _have_ to be sexless. It’s just the, uh, factory default, so to speak.”

Crowley’s expression was pained. Eyes wide, brows pinched, mouth still gaping. “And you, um… you use it?”

Aziraphale looked away, ears now approaching a shade that matched his cheeks. He swallowed, “Well, I mean. I suppose you could say that.” Crowley looked like he was on the verge of a stroke, eyebrows creeping steadily toward his hairline.

“How recent?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“You said it was a recent development. How recent?”

“Oh, um, well, I suppose it was sometime around that whole situation at the Bastille.”

He didn’t think it was possible for Crowley’s mouth to open any wider, but sure enough his jaw dropped another inch. Snake genes maybe?

“The Bastille?!” he was screeching. “Angel, you mean to tell me we could have been fucking for the last 200 years and you didn’t think to mention it?!”

Aziraphale’s head was spinning. Did Crowley just _say that_?! He couldn’t just say that like it was nothing.

“Crowley! Don’t be so gauche. And also, what on _earth_ are you talking about?!”

“Well usually when two people are dating…”

“Dating?!” Now Aziraphale was screeching “Dating?! Crowley, what…” he was speechless. Dating? Were they dating? Why didn’t he know that? Crowley had certainly never mentioned it before.

Crowley’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I mean, yeah? _You_ asked _me_ out. Oysters? Rome? Ringing any bells?”

“Rome?! Crowley that was nearly 2,000 years ago!”

“And?”

“And! And… Crowley, there were centuries we didn’t even see each other!”

Crowley’s face fell, “Wait, have you, you know. Been seeing other people?” He dropped his eyes to his lap, “I mean, I guess we never exactly talked about being exclusive…” Without thinking, Aziraphale reached out and took Crowley’s hand.

“No, Crowley. Absolutely not.” He didn’t know they had been _dating_ but he was a fool if he tried to convince himself he’d been anything other than, well… He’d had eyes only for Crowley for a long time now. “There’s only ever been you.” Crowley stared at their hands, fingers now intertwined. “Crowley?”

He looked up at Aziraphale through long lashes. “Hm?”

“If we were dating, why didn’t you ever, you know. Touch me.” It was his turn to look away sheepishly, “…kiss me?”

“You know,” Crowley gestured vaguely again, “that whole… sexless… thing. Didn’t think you were interested. I was happy to be with you in whatever way you wanted.”

Aziraphale’s stomach did a somersault. He was so confused and yet so very happy. All this time of _definitely not_ overthinking things and hiding his affection were for naught. He was, for a moment, embittered at time spent wasted, but it was quickly replaced with a sense of levity. He couldn’t, and didn’t want to, stifle a giggle bubbling up in his throat. The whole situation was ridiculous and wonderful and so very _them_. So much was clicking into place. _Hamlet_ and his books in the church and _fraternizing_ and Alpha Centauri and the last three weeks of post-apocanot domestic bliss.

Crowley stared uncertainly at Aziraphale, dread bubbling up in his throat. Had he been so wrong this whole time, so far off the mark, that Aziraphale was _laughing_ at him? Did he not feel the same way? After centuries together? He looked down at their hands again. Fingers knit together. Aziraphale was squeezing gently and running his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles. It was electric. They rarely touched. But was this just sympathy? Was he just easing the blow? He was beginning to panic. Definitely panicking.

“Angel?” his voice wavered. He knew it and he felt so small. But when he summoned enough courage to lift his gaze and his eyes found Aziraphale’s he was met with an expression of pure unadulterated joy. His angel was practically glowing. Scratch that. He was literally glowing. His giggles subsided and he searched Crowley’s face curiously.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed, leaning toward the demon. “Kiss me.”

Crowley leans in, hesitant. His fingers twitch, unsure where to land. Over the centuries he's tried not to dwell on what this would be like. Where he might touch and how. It never felt like a possibility. But that isn't to say he hadn't imagined. Hadn't touched himself thinking about the what-ifs.

Aziraphale stares, wide eyed, but with a smile playing at his lips. He leans in too. He had been imagining this very vividly for quite some time, but that doesn't mean he actually knows what to do. He's never indulged in the warmth of another body. He has learned how to touch himself, knows the sensations that he enjoys, but you can't kiss yourself. You can't pretend, not entirely, that your fingers are someone else's as they stroke your chest or your thighs.

Crowley's fingers finally settle on Aziraphale’s hand where they squeeze tenderly. Uncertain. Aziraphale flips his hand and grips back reassuringly, eyes fond and patient. Crowley can feel the hint of a smile touching his own lips as he finally leans in the final few inches and, for the first time in too long, since it was last fashionable between friends, their lips touch. Softly. Slowly. The plushness of Aziraphale’s mouth makes Crowley feel like he is crumbling apart and coming back together again. Aziraphale tilts his head and presses closer. They part for only a millisecond before Crowley is bringing his hand to Aziraphale’s jaw and drawing him back in, still softly, so softly.  
  
Aziraphale makes a small broken noise. The noise of a man wandering the desert who has finally come across a drink of water. Relief. Disbelief. Joy. Crowley can feel that noise deep inside of him and it makes his heart race.  
  
His eyelashes brush Aziraphale’s cheek and he can feel him smile into the kiss. He draws back to look, to see that smile that he lives for day in and day out, a goofy grin plastered onto his own face that makes Aziraphale smile even brighter.  
  
This time Aziraphale leans in, a little more desperately. A little less soft. He eases an arm around Crowley's shoulder and pulls him closer until their chests are flush together. Aziraphale sighs at the contact and Crowley, boldly, lets his tongue prod gently at his parted lips. Aziraphale lets his own tongue slip, just barely, beyond the perimeter of his own lips, unsure how he should move, what exactly he should be doing. Their tongues touch, then retreat, Aziraphale huffing a breathy giggle into Crowley's mouth.  
  
Crowley smiles, dives his tongue back in to play along Aziraphale’s lips and then slides in just enough to brush against teeth. Aziraphale’s tongue meets his again, still soft and unsure, brushing gently along the tip of Crowley's. He uses his own tongue to lure Aziraphale’s out and he sucks it gently into his mouth, let's Aziraphale explore and play and discover what he likes. Aziraphale makes a little high pitched "ah" against Crowley's lips and suddenly he is easing them both horizontal, laying back onto the bed and pulling Crowley on top of him.  
  
Crowley goes willingly, eagerly until he is laying halfway atop him, legs straddling one of Aziraphale’s generous thighs, an ankle snaking around to hook under a calf. The kisses get deeper, more frantic and without meaning to Crowley cants his hips against Aziraphale’s thigh with a quiet breathy moan. He draws back for a moment, embarrassed, not wanting to push too far, until Aziraphale’s hand finds the small of his back and presses him down again. Crowley smirks, repeats the action and as he does he notices the hard line of Aziraphale’s erection brushing against the crest of his hip. He shifts, pulls Aziraphale onto his side so that their swollen cocks are nestled side by side and he grinds their hips together, one hand gripping Aziraphale’s waist for leverage.  
  
“Oh,” Aziraphale squeaks. “That. That was quite nice.”  
  
Crowley nods, panting lightly, and does it again. Aziraphale moans softly and moves back against Crowley, increasing the pressure. As he draws his mouth away, Crowley takes the opportunity to move his lips to Aziraphale’s jaw, then to his neck.

Aziraphale’s breath comes faster, hitching as Crowley nips at his skin. “Can... Could I touch you?”  
  
Crowley glances up. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. You don't have to ask.”  
  
Aziraphale skims his hand across Crowley's ribs, over his hip, down to a knee them back up the inside of his thigh. Crowley inhales sharply as Aziraphale trails his fingers over his cock and then palms at him.  
  
“Angel, we can take it slow. If you want.”  
  
Aziraphale slips his fingers under the waistband of his briefs. “I don't. Want to, that is. As long as that is ok.”  
  
Crowley chews at his lip as Aziraphale slides his fingers to the front of his briefs and brushes their tips through the edge of his pubic hair. “No. Yes, I mean. A-ok with that. Fast as you want.”  
  
Aziraphale smiles and tugs his briefs down his hips, to mid-thigh letting his prick spring free, hard and flushed red. Aziraphale glances shyly at Crowley before his hands flutter to his own pajamas.  
  
Crowley catches his hand. “Can I? Please?”  
  
Aziraphale nods enthusiastically. Crowley shimmies the rest of the way out of his pants. Aziraphale helps him pull his tee over his head and he reaches for the drawstring at Aziraphale’s waist. He struggles with the knot, then, with a deep breath, pushes them down and Aziraphale kicks them off the end of the bed. Crowley pulls Aziraphale’s shirt up by the hem and with an awkward wiggle Aziraphale slips out of it.  
  
Crowley twists his ankles back up with Aziraphale’s, their legs twining together  
  
They are mirror images, slightly out of synch. Eye staring, hands touching chests and stomachs and thighs and throats. Aziraphale is the first to reach for Crowley's prick. As his fingers wrap firmly around him Crowley sucks in a sharp stuttering breath, hips bucking forward.  
  
“Angel...”  
  
Aziraphale strokes him slowly. “Will you tell me? Tell me what you want? I've... Never done this before. With someone else.”  
  
Crowley's fingers wrap around the back of Aziraphale’s head and pull him in for another kiss. He nods. “Yeah, yes.” His fingers skirt over the crease of his thigh. “Can I?”  
  
Aziraphale nods. “Please...” He whispers, “I've wanted this...”  
  
Crowley takes him in hand. Aziraphale’s eyes roll back as he begins to pump his fist around him.  
  
“Crowley...” Aziraphale forces his eyes open.  
  
Crowley shifts his hips so that he can take both of their cocks in his hand. He interlaces his fingers with Aziraphale’s and guides him so that they are stroking themselves together.  
  
Aziraphale is staring down at where he pumps them both, chest rising and falling rapidly, his mouth a tight “o”. His eyes close and his head falls back and Crowley can't tear his eyes away from the blissful look on his face.

He leans in and kisses him but Aziraphale can barely respond. Over and over he closes his lips on Crowley's for a moment before dropping them open to pant or moan.

Crowley strokes them quicker, tighter, as he gazes down over his cheekbones at Aziraphale whose breath stutters into Crowley's open mouth.  
  
Aziraphale's brows draw in and up and his entire body tenses for a moment before he is wracked with the waves of his orgasm, spilling messily over their hands.  
  
As he comes, his fingers, having been mostly passive up to this point, spark into action. He grips tightly and works his hand over them both the way he likes it, long slow pumps. Showing Crowley how to work him through the throes of his orgasm.  
  
As he does, it finally sinks in for Crowley what they are doing. That Aziraphale has been doing this, touching himself, imagining this, practicing for this. That he has just given Aziraphale an orgasm. That Aziraphale is mumbling his name against his mouth. That Aziraphale has just mumbled that he loves him.  
It all washes over him at once and sends him tumbling after Aziraphale. He lets himself go completely, keening and gasping and spasming and shaking apart.  
  
When he comes back into his body he sees himself reflected in the stormy mirrors of Aziraphale’s eyes. He looks wrecked. Feels wrecked. Aziraphale looks much the same way. Cheeks rosy, lips swollen, eyes heavy.  
  
Crowley smiles, eyes the mess between their bodies. The sticky smears where they are still joined loosely at their hands and hips and cocks. He gives a gentle teasing squeeze and the muscles of Aziraphale’s stomach jump. He sucks in a breath at the stimulation of his over sensitive prick, then leans into Crowley and giggles. Crowley releases his grip, moves to miracle the mess away, but Aziraphale stops him.  
  
“Just, in a minute. I want to...” He trails his fingers through the mess. Rubs it between his fingers. “That really just happened...”  
  
“Ha, yeah. It… It was. Wow. Aziraphale…”  
  
Aziraphale chuckles. Nods. “Yeah. Wow.” His eyes flit to Crowley's then away again, nervous. Shy. “I meant what I said.”

“What's that?”

“That I love you...”

Crowley smiles. “I know.” Aziraphale’s eyes meet his again.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. You don’t walk into hell for someone unless you love them.”

“I'm sorry I've been so slow.”

Crowley pulls him into a kiss. “Angel. We have all the time in the world. We can go at any speed.”

“I meant what I said about that too. I don't want to go slow anymore. I want to catch up for the last 2,000 years. Of being a bad boyfriend.”

Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale, pulls him tight against his chest. “You’ve been my best friend since the beginning. I couldn’t have asked for anything else.”

Aziraphale relaxes against him, runs his hand over the curve of his hip and gives his bum a gentle squeeze. “ _Nothing_ else?”

Crowley snorts. “Ok, fine, maybe just one thing…”


End file.
